


Never Going To Be The Same

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting crime and wanton hero-on-hero violence is far safer for the world at large than the Avengers bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Going To Be The Same

**Author's Note:**

> My first non-SPN fic. Thanks to neros violin for checking my Thor dialogue ;)

There is a reason, Steve has come to realize, that people like them only meet up to fight evil doers or beat one another bloody, and that reason is that left to their own devices, superheroes, geniuses and vicious assassins get up to all kinds of trouble. Fighting crime and wanton hero-on-hero violence is far safer for the world at large than the Avengers bored.  
  
This particular instance, he is forced to conclude, is either Clint or Tony's fault. Bruce can barely be convinced to participate in group activities anyway and Thor was explicitly forbidden from bringing up Asgardian drinking games after the incident with the pool table. If it had been Natasha's idea there would be more laser grid mazes and water-torture. So that leaves Tony and Clint, both of whom should know better and neither of whom actually does.  
  
That Thor has wound up in a state of partial nudity only proves that it is Wednesday - working his way up to 'Thorsday Thursday' which seemed to involve a great deal of being naked in the public areas of the house and not much else that Steve has been able to discern. That said partial nudity brought on the inclusion of what is almost certainly one of Natasha's undergarments is entirely new, however.  
  
Also, they need to go over the rules about unclothed hugging with Thor again.  
  
"Steven, my friend! Your return is most welcome! Come, we are sharing a game of sincerity and physical challenge! Join us!" Thor bellows, oblivious to Steve's stiff posture as he presses Steve against his bare chest and lifts him right off the ground. For the obvious reasons Steve is very, as the saying goes, secure in his masculinity but Thor has a unique talent for making him feel like a little girl in pigtails. Even, apparently, while wearing ladies underthings.  
  
"Truth or dare?" Steve shoots an incredulous glance at the supposed adults around the bottle-strewn coffee table. Bruce has the decency to look chagrined, though his button-up is also suspiciously rumpled. As far as he knows, Natasha only has two expressions, flatly unamused and gleefully contemplating murder - Steve isn't entirely sure which category her arched eyebrow falls into. Clint and Tony are both grinning, glassy eyed and disheveled. "One of you dared him into..."  
  
Words fail Steve, so he settles for gesturing vaguely at Thor's nether region. The bright purple satin straining around his hips is struggling to contain, well, all sorts of things it clearly wasn't designed to accommodate. Not that it seems designed to accommodate much considering the view Steve gets when Thor turns around.  
  
Thor answers for them, arching to look over his own shoulder to look at his exposed backside. "Yes, I am informed it is known as a thong! It is far more comfortable than appearances would suggest!" Steve's not sure whether the hip wiggling is worse or that, when Thor turns back to him, he's stroking tenderly at the bulge of his groin with his knuckles. "I find the fabric most pleasing against my manhood."  
  
Despite nearly a year of arguing the matter out in his head and over a month of more practical experience under Tony's enthusiastic tutelage, Steve is still not entirely comfortable with the acrobatic maneuvers his stomach pulls watching another man touch himself. He doesn't seem to be the only one affected, though, which is as much comforting as it isn't when he catches Tony's gaze, heavy-lidded and pupil blown, on Thor as well.  
  
Fortunately, Steve is saved from doing anything embarrassing about the sizzling ember of jealousy that spontaneously appears in his chest by Clint throwing a pillow at Thor. Some general grumbles and teasing complaints follow, he assumes, but he's hardly paying attention. All of his focus is on Tony who's looking back at him now, warm affection in his eyes that hadn't been there for Thor. It assuages that red-blooded, masculine urge to do something completely ludicrous like challenge a Norse god to a fist fight over Steve's own whatever-Tony-is. It doesn’t, however, do a darned thing to quite the niggling curiosity fidgeting in the back of his mind.  
  
***  
  
Tony and he have reached something of an impasse in their, well, relationship is the only word that he can think of for it even though he can perfectly envision the tic in Tony's jaw if he were to say it that way out loud. It had been rough going for a while there and they both made some unfortunate turns along the way before fumbling rather accidentally into heated kisses and touches.  
  
Honestly, if Steve had given a great deal of thought to what Tony Stark would be like, romantically, before they became involved, he would have figured on finding himself cajoled and taunted and otherwise manipulated into compromising positions at every available opportunity. Instead they seem to be, for lack of a better term, taking it slow. Which is all well and good aside from the fact that it's going to drive Steve insane sometime in the near future.  
  
He knows that everyone expects him to act like their grandfather, but underneath it all, he's still a young man. One with super serum enhanced drives, no less. Sex most definitely interests him, and while he may be slightly better at ignoring that fact than the average modern man - or at least the ones Steve knows personally, who are not, perhaps, the greatest models of restraint - that doesn't mean that he doesn't think about it or want it a great deal.  
  
It’s a mark of what Tony does to his head that he's upset that his... the man he's somewhat involved with - he has trouble imagining Tony calling himself anyone's boyfriend and by modern standards they'd probably have to have sex first for it to count anyway - does not think of him as a sex object. It should be flattering, really, that Tony sees him as more than just a body, likes him for who he is and is interested in him for those reasons. Just, well, he does have a body, and a pretty fine one, in fact. It's one thing to be modest but he grew up looking very different from this and he is capable of recognizing that the way he is now has some appeal. All sorts of people look at him and want him and while that may be a little uncomfortable, he can't deny that he appreciates it. So he's not sure what, precisely, the issue is when it comes to getting Tony to see him that way.  
  
He'd thought for a while that it might simply be that he's a man. Obviously Tony has some experience with both sexes, but Steve has never seen him out and about with anyone but very pretty girls on his arm. And that had been one thing, an issue to get past, certainly, but a concrete fact that he could understand. Steve doesn't look like a girl, not in the slightest, and if those are the sort of bodies Tony's used to sexualizing, it's entirely understandable that things between them would be different. Steve's struggled with it a bit himself, honestly, because Tony's nothing at all like anyone he'd have imagined himself with. But Tony is Tony, brilliant and charming and infuriating and Steve, despite all of his reasons not to, wants him badly. He just can't understand why the feeling isn't mutual.  
  
The issue of how he made the leap from that somewhat self-conscious but nonetheless logical track to, well, to _this_ is a bit less clear in Steve's mind.  
  
The elastic at the waist of the... he's going to call them shorts - the _shorts_ dig in a bit at his hips, not quite sized to fit someone of Steve's proportions. They aren't uncomfortable though. A bit breezier than he's used to seeing as they don't quite manage to cover the curve of his rear, but sort of pleasant.  
  
Silky fabric that, now that he thinks of it, is probably actual silk, whispers over his backside and the very tops of his thighs in the front, warms against his dick with the slightest pressure where he fills them out too much. There's a little lace detailing under the elastic band and on the sides but no bows, thank goodness. He'd been afraid they were going to be red, white and blue when he’d opened the Stark Industries-marked package and the attached note - while hiding in the bathroom because he still hasn’t worked out where all Tony has cameras around here - but they're a soft sage green color that he has to admit looks rather good against his skin.  
  
In fact, the whole thing looks rather good in a very strange way Steve's not sure how to feel about. The garters still seem like a bit much, but the stockings don't stay up right without them, and it's taken him ten minutes of twirling around in front of the mirror to get the seams up the back of his legs straight so he certainly isn't going to take them off now. They do look a little funny on his bare feet though. Maybe he should have asked about shoes to go with them?  
  
“You can’t be drunk."  
  
Tony's voice startles him into a jump that nearly ends in a fall when the stocking slide against the carpet. So much for Captain America's lauded grace and agility.  
  
Naturally, Tony keeps talking without missing a beat as Steve steadies himself against the mirrored door of Tony's closet. "Physically, it’s not possible, I ran over the numbers myself just to make sure. In which case, whatever Clint told you that made you believe that this is for the good of the American people, he was absolutely right and I agree with him 100%.”  
  
Steve's blushing, can feel the heat crawling up his neck and pricking in his cheeks. This all seemed like a much better idea when he was by himself. “I didn’t… Oh geez.”  
Midstride, Tony toes off his shoes without missing a beat, fingers already going for the buttons of his shirt as he stalks toward Steve, grinning. “I love that you’re standing there like a fetish centerfold and you still can’t just curse.”  
  
“It’s not too odd?" His voice comes out a bit squeaky, part the shock of cold glass on his bare back as Tony presses him up against the door, part nerves because Tony is hardly ever this forward with him, physically.  
  
“You wear patriotic-themed leather and scale mail in public and this is what strikes you as odd?" It's the same familiar, teasing smirk Tony gives him all the time, but combined with those bedroom eyes and the low purr of his voice all but pressed into Steve's lips it comes across as something completely different.  
  
Rough hands are at Steve's hips for all of a second, sliding restless over his stomach and chest, calluses catching at delicate fabric, heat and pressure bleeding through like a tease before Tony gets to the hem of the little shorts and toys his way underneath instead. He doesn't do anything more than tickle fingerprints against Steve's inner thigh, the same concise, careful movements he uses to pick through the blueprints and schematics Jarvis projects for him in the air. One touch and Steve’s already hard enough to throb.  
  
"Where did you get all of this anyway?” he asks, lipping at the corner of Steve's mouth, facial hair leaving the faintest sting in his wake.  
  
Steve's honestly more interested in getting a taste of Tony's tongue, but contrary as always, Tony pulls away just enough to thwart him when Steve dips his chin and makes a go at it. He does at least push his fingers further up the leg of Steve's shorts to massage tiny circles against the stretch of muscle behind his balls.  
  
“Um, well," Steve starts, breathless as he feels himself start leaking out slick onto the soft cloth straining over his hard-on, "I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but Pepper has this sort of a way of knowing when you’ve got something on your mind you don’t want to talk about and then making you tell her about it anyway.”  
  
Tony hums his ascent, nuzzling at Steve's jaw, free hand traipsing up to pluck at a nipple to send a sweet burn coursing under Steve’s skin.  
  
“I have a theory that she has the mutant gene and just doesn’t want to admit it." he agrees absently, tonguing at Steve's chin. "Can I kiss you through your pretty panties?”  
  
Not waiting for an answer, Tony drags every last inch of his chest against Steve's as he slinks to his knees, the reactor housing scraping a fine, hot trail over skin.  
  
The majority of Steve's, "They're shorts," gets lost on an embarrassing noise when Tony doesn't hesitate to press his open mouth over the damp spot where Steve's cockhead distends the fabric. Tony has a habit of pulling all kinds of sounds out of him that Steve's sure a person his size shouldn't be able to make.  
  
The laugh Tony loses in the middle of licking the cloth wet shivers up Steve's spine and bounces around like a pinball in his skull. He thinks there might be an, "Of course," in there somewhere but it's so hard to pay attention when there's Tony's mouth and it's doing things and oh sweet lord, why have they not done this before?  
  
What Tony said is true, he can't get drunk, hasn't been able to for decades longer than he actually remembers it being, but this feeling when he and Tony do this thing that they do, it's close, better in a lot of ways. He feels hazy with it and sharp at the same time, nerves that have nothing in the least to do with where Tony's mouth is dampening the silk over his balls firing off bright under his skin. He wants to think of them as 'fireworks' but it turns into 'repulsor beams' in his head.  
  
Iron Man. Tony Stark. Steve's never going to be the same.  
  
Somehow or other his fingers get themselves tangles up in the constant mess of Tony's hair, pulling too hard because it's tough to reign himself in like this but Tony just moans for it anyway. Peels his lips away from spit-clinging silk to grin up at Steve like a feral cat.  
  
"And here I was thinking you'd be vanilla."  
  
"I don't-" Steve has to stop and clear his throat to get the thick husk out of his voice, "I don't think I understand what that means."  
  
"It's a compliment," Tony murmurs, dragging the tip of his nose against the soaked cloth up the shaft of Steve's cock. Gets bopped when it jumps under the stimulation and retaliates by nipping at the curve of the ridge through a smile.  
  
"Oh, oka- ooh, Tony!"  
  
Compared to his own, Tony's hands always seem small, but when they grip at Steve's ass, rubbing so the fabric shifts fluidly over his sensitized skin, all Steve notices about them is how strong they are, how dexterous when they spread his cheeks and push silk flush against his hole.  
  
Tony has touched him here exactly twice. The first time Steve came all over himself from the barest brush of Tony's finger there through his pants and the second time he'd managed skin on skin but not much else. It's a very strange sensation and not one, when he's attempted to explore on his own - after some very embarrassing research he desperately hopes Jarvis hasn't told Tony about - that he's found exceptionally appealing. But with Tony, for some reason, it's almost too good to take, too personal and intimate and it has his head thrashing against the mirror just thinking about Tony wanting to touch him in a place like that.  
  
"Steve, sweetheart, eyes front," Tony says, laving up the length of Steve's dick again. "Or down. Wherever the hell 'at me' is."  
  
It's an effort, but Steve makes himself open his eyes again, tips his head down to take in Anthony Stark, billionaire playboy superhero on his knees.  
  
The view is... it feels strange to say spectacular since his own dick features heavily into the matter, but regardless, it's true. Steve's cock is trapped at an odd angle, arrowing toward his hipbone where the elastic of the shorts is pulled tight enough to put up a fight. The waistband is losing though, dragging away from Steve's skin as the flushed head of his dick insinuates itself between it and Steve's body. The light-catching green silk is mottled dark with Tony's spit and Steve's own precome, soaked through in enough places that it looks like he's dressed his cock up in one of those second-skin outfits Natasha manages to shimmy herself into all the time. A complete mess, filthy and debauched for Tony's pleasure and just the thought of it makes him flush hot down to his toes.  
  
And Tony, Tony looks... pornographic. That's the only word for it. Lips gone an obscene cherry red, swollen from the way he's been going at Steve, full force, nothing held in reserve – just like he does everything. He's moved on to Steve's legs now, playing around the edge of where the stockings meet skin, how the garters joint with them. Hot breath bleeds out through the nylons like water, a touch far more physical than air skirting through Steve's veins until his knees feel weak with it.  
  
A slash of jet black falls across Tony's forehead where his hair is mussed by Steve’s hands; softer smudges as his eyelashes wing down, back up again to stare at Steve through them, playing at bashful as if Tony hasn't got more metal in his body than shame. His shirt is hanging open, framing a taut belly and the arc reactor, cool blue light throwing the jut of his dick standing straight up from his undone fly into sharp relief. It's wet at the tip, glittering trails running down the sides from Tony being too occupied touching Steve to bother with himself.  
  
His hips punch up into the air under Steve's scrutiny, getting nothing out of it but moaning anyway, tongue-tracing the jumpy tendon in Steve’s thigh up under the leg of the shorts to lick a kiss into the damp flesh.  
  
"Love the way you look at me. Could live like this, get high off it. Oughta-" Tony shifts himself around on his knees and then something hot and wet is nudging at Steve’s shin. Tony is pressing up against his leg, one hand cupped around the back of his calf to hold him in place as he grinds himself against transparent silk and muscle. "Oughta bottle it. Make a fortune. 'Nother fortune."  
  
He breaks off mumbling something that sounds like an equation, losing scraps of it as he bucks his hips rhythmically. Mahogany eyes have gone wild, hands roaming lovingly up Steve's leg and back down, as far up his chest as he can reach, down to his hips to tug at the waistband of the shorts and skid them down a few inches until his cock pops free and smacks wet against the clasp of the garter.  
  
Tension crackles on the air like the reactor housing is leaking, energy pouring out over all of Steve's exposed parts. Bubbly tingles that turn to razor-edged shocks as Tony grabs him by the base and feeds Steve's dick into his mouth.  
  
There's a sharp crack when the back of Steve's head hits the door but he only has a second to hope dimly that he didn't break the mirror before Tony's doing this, this _thing_ with his _tongue_ and every other thought goes flying out of Steve's head. He should have known Tony would be good at this. So far the only thing he's come across that Tony's not good at is losing. And shutting up. But beyond that, he's an expert at just about everything that he bothers trying his hand at so of course, _of course_ he can push his mouth down onto Steve and flutter his tongue and make Steve forget how to do anything but make broken mewling sounds.  
  
Tony's still rubbing against him, hard heat of his dick glass-smooth through the nylons. It makes him have to crook his head at an angle, one hand tight on Steve's hip for balance. Anyone else would bruise from the dig of Tony's thumb in the cradle of his hip bone, but it will have already faded from Steve's skin by the time their done. It's one of the few times he regrets how quickly he can heal.  
  
Slick, lewd sounds escape Tony's mouth as he pushes it down on Steve's cock over and over, slurps and hitching clicks as he nearly chokes and keeps going anyway, over and over. Steve means to stop him but it turns into him petting Tony's hair instead, trying to make himself breathe past the clench in his gut at the sight of Tony's red, red lips stretched thin around him, spit catching arc-blue where it slicks them and runs into his goatee. Everything is wet and hot, buzzing, these sharp rasps of near-pain when Tony's teeth catch, probably intentionally by the gleam in his eye, and send shivers cascading down Steve's spine.  
  
He feels molten on the inside, liquid and churned up around his own bones. Tony's mouth on him is a revelation, freehand tracing idly over silk and thin skin, dipping along the inside of the stockings to drag a ragged cuticle against him and then circling up the back to palm at his ass again, flirt with the idea of putting his fingers _there_. It sets Steve grinding unexpectedly, glass at his back squealing on sweat-damp skin as he dips his hips in encouragement. Tony leans into it instead of away like he should, amount of force between the two of them pushing him all the way until he's giving Steve's pubic bone an indecent kiss through the light curls.  
  
Something happens in Tony's throat that could be a moan or a word or just a reflex of the muscle but whatever it is, it pulls at Steve, ripples and presses and-  
  
"Oh God, Tony!"  
  
Blood roars in Steve's ears as he feels the first pulse of his come wave through his body like a fist reaching inside of him and tugging it free, almost painful and so, so good. It's sight-stealing, blocking out the signals from the whole rest of his body as he ruts, helpless, against Tony's face like an animal.  
  
Tony takes it all without complaint, coughing wetly when he pulls off only to dive back in again when the tip of his finger finds its way to that hot secret place in the cleft of Steve’s ass and then in, barely anything but enough to coax another blurt of come from him with a harsh noise.  
  
He comes back to life easing to the floor, legs spread wide as Tony pushes his way between them and slams his mouth against Steve's. His lips are wet, bruise-warm, bitter in a way that sends a possessive thrill blistering through Steve's veins. For the most part he's just breathing, jagged pants and grunts over the rushed slap of skin on skin. His face is blocking Steve's view but he can tell by the reverbs moving through Tony that he's jerking himself fast and rough, nearly there. And then his voice stutters off into a gasp and pure, fluid heat is spattering over Steve's spent dick, his stomach, soaking through the already ruined shorts strung tight over the tops of his thighs.  
  
Shaking, Tony collapses against Steve's front. His facial hair is a pleasant scratch against the side of Steve's neck, counterpoint to the soft heat of Tony's lips and tongue worrying at the skin there.  
  
It's all terribly messy, sticky and overheated. Their clothes will have to go to the cleaners, though Steve's cheeks heat at the very thought of someone seeing this and _knowing_. Maybe he can just find out where Pepper ordered these from and get another set. Still, with Tony's weight like a furnace against him and his come slowly oozing down Steve's thighs and up between his legs, he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.


End file.
